Moribund

by Genevieve Iseult Eldredge

  “Nice. I’m a sucker for those mini hot dog octopi.” I’m playing it off again, but a weird feeling lairs in my guts. And it’s not from the thought of hot dog octopi.

  My mom was a woman of steel and surety, consort to my father, his moral compass. She had winter running through her veins. She never made lunches or breakfasts or saw me off in the morning. I don’t know what-all that means in relation to Georgina.

  Right now, I don’t want to know.

  Syl packs our stuff and hands me a beat-up backpack. “Sorry,” she says. “You’ll have to use mine.”

  I look at it, covering the fact that I’m touched—touched as hell—with snark. “Friendship is magic?” I read the inscription and give her the raised eyebrow. “Seriously?”

  “Yes, friendship is super-serious.” She meets my gaze, and I catch that she’s referring to our talk last night.

  Hell and hue, she’s adorkable. I can’t resist teasing her gently. “Well, since you insist.”

  She gives it right back. “I do.”

  I hitch up the backpack and cradle the violin. “Ready, princess?”

  She gives me that sweet half-smile of hers. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  “Whatever happens, I’ll be there for you.” It just slips out, in front of her mom and everything, but I don’t care. Things are about to get serious all around.

  “I know,” Syl says shyly, looking down. She reaches out and touches my left hand. “Whatever happens, we’ll face it. Together.”

  Hells yes, we will.

  We bid Georgina farewell, and I try not to see the worried look on her face. I’ll protect her, I try to project with my every breath, my every action.

  She gets it. Yeah, we understand each other.

  I turn to the door. We’re so doing this, and we are going to kick some serous ass. Get ready, Agravaine. It’s on like Donkey Kong.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Syl

  A Grimmacle is a Glamoury of great power

  Even the denizens of Faerie cannot

  See through it

  But there is always a price…

  - Glamma’s Grimm

  With every step back into Richmond Elite Academy, I become more and more confident. Euphoria’s totally styling in her Glamoury. She’s got her usual long black hair, and chunky-black nerd glasses perched on her nose. Her eyes are a deep midnight, toned down from her dark Fae sapphire ringed with gold, but still plenty blue enough to lose myself in. She’s Glamouried on a black dress and boots, and looks like an older, sexier version of Wednesday Addams crossed with Emily the Strange.

  Me? I’ve lost a lot of my Irish to the Glamoury. I’m now a chestnut-brown brunette with grey eyes. I chose a cute minidress with skulls and death’s-head moths all over it and my favorite Docs, along with a pair of leggings that make black patterns swirl up my legs. Even though the Glamoury covers our clothes, our styles, hair, everything… I guess I wanted Euphoria to see me looking extra cute.

  After all, we can see through the Glamoury since it’s cast on us.

  People stare, some turn their heads. Others pass us by without a second glance. The main thing is…no one recognizes us.

  Euphoria and I are totally incognito. Everyone’s buying our geek-girl personae. Score! I mean, to be honest, it’s not that different than my actual persona. So, there’s that.

  The best lie has a grain of the truth in it, right?

  We waltz into Principal Fee’s office like we own the place. I’m forgetting that we’re supposed to be shy and not know the school layout. Whatever. It feels good to strut our stuff a little.

  Lennon’s at the desk as usual. She wants to be a high school principal, and she gets college credit for helping the administrators. Rumor has it she and Fiann are on the outs lately, and Lennon’s been looking for a way to dismount—probably to avoid any scandal.

  I’m betting she’ll help us.

  Or at least keep her mouth shut.

  “Hi, Lennon.”

  She gives a little jolt. “Do I…know you?”

  I lean on the counter, super-close, and lower my voice. “It’s me. Syl.”

  “Did Fiann put you up to this?” She takes a step back, giving me the stink eye. “I don’t know you, but—”

  “When we were thirteen, we tried to sneak into the Nanci. The owner caught us and called my mom. We never told your parents because they would’ve skinned you alive.”

  The whole time I’m saying this, Lennon’s eyes are getting wider and wider. When I’m done, she leans heavily on the counter. “Syl? Holy cats!” She looks me over and then Euphoria, and I see her doing the math. “Why the disguises? They’re amazing, by the way, but why?”

  With a quick nod to Euphoria, I give Lennon the super-quick, need-to-know, no-Fae version in whispers, including me and Euphoria needing identical schedules.

  I don’t lay out our master plan with the Grimmacle, but Lennon’s a smart girl. She’s top of our class, and she didn’t get there by being a slouch. “This has to do with Fiann, doesn’t it?”

  I nod. It’s not a lie. Not really. Fiann and Agravaine are in cahoots. We’ve just got to figure out how. We already know the why. Fiann’s turned into a crazy person.

  A sly smile breaks Lennon’s usual shyness. “Okay,” she says. “I’m in.” She takes our fake school IDs and goes to her computer. Her manicured fingers fly over the keys like the doves on her Lolita skirt.

  “We’ll need passes, too, so we can skip homeroom this morning,” I tell her, glancing at Euphoria. “Got some biz to take care of.”

  “Okay.” Lennon doesn’t miss a beat. In short order, two schedules pop out of the printer, and she hands them to us along with two hall passes that she totally forges with our homeroom teachers’ names.

  Note to self: if I ever start a criminal organization, hire Lennon.

  “This is so awesome,” she whispers, and then straightens as a group of freshman comes into the room “There you are, Miss Minnie Maven and Miss Susan Scurry.”

  “Great, thanks!” I take our schedules and lower my voice. “You can’t say anything to anyone. Okay?”

  She makes an X motion over her heart and nods.

  I wave good-bye as Euphoria and I head out into the hallway for first bell. So far, so good. “Stage One complete.”

  “The possum is in the toolbox,” Euphoria says in her best super-spy/detective voice.

  I stop her, a laugh on my lips. “Wait, what?”

  She shrugs one shoulder, totally unashamed. “I heard it on TV.”

  Holy— How does she manage to be so dorky and yet so darn sexy at the same time? Of course, I tease her. “Okay, Miami Vice, but maybe you should lay off those old-school cop shows.”

  She half smirks. “I’ll have you know, those old-school cop shows are retro-cool. Come on, Miss Smarty Pants, on to Stage Two.”

  I get my game face on.

  Stage Two is the riskiest part of the plan. The part where Euphoria and I split up. She’s an M and I’m an S, so we have different homerooms. Besides, she needs to check in with the band teacher, and I need to check in with whoever’s running the school paper.

  We have an hour. Each Grimmacle has a limit, a weakness, and that’s our Grimmacle’s—we can be apart for only an hour at a time or the spell will break.

  I look at my empty wrist. “Shall we synchronize watches?”

  “Now who’s going all Miami Vice?” She nudges me in a friendly way, and my heart soars.

  “If I start wearing slacks and loafers with no socks, please shoot me.”

  “Deal.”

  I watch as she saunters away, my Fae-sight picking up the Grimmacle’s aura around her. It blurs her image, like someone spread Vaseline on a camera lens. Blurry or not, I can’t stop looking at her, each of her footfalls timed to the pulse of my heart.

  When she turns the corner, I head to my new locker—Susan Scurry’s locker—and stow my stuff, grab my new notebook. I take out my DSL camera, my baby. Stupid F
iann and her shaving cream. It cost me two weeks’ pay to get it professionally cleaned. I wanted to put the money toward rent, but Mom insisted. I slam my locker a wee bit hard and head to the newspaper’s HQ near the library.

  My heart is suddenly pounding, and I wipe sweaty palms on my skirt.

  What if the Grimmacle doesn’t work? What if Miss Jardin sees me? Out of everyone, she’s the teacher that knows me best. And so far, I haven’t run into Fiann or anyone I’ve actually hung out with, except Lennon.

  It worked well enough on her, Syl.

  The idea that Glamma’s Grimmacle keeps them from realizing the obvious—Syl Skye and Susan Scurry are the same person—seems absurd. But I trust Glamma. She was a wily old bird. She often said people don’t question things that appear right, even when those things are dancing a jig under their noses.

  I hope you’re right, Glamma.

  I turn and run smack-dab into a wall of a chest. “Oof!” I stagger back, rubbing my sore nose. My notebook’s fallen. I bend to pick it up. “Are you all ri—?” I look up into the face of whoever just nearly ran me over. “Never mind.”

  Agravaine.

  He’s staring at me, those shark-black eyes searching my face.

  He doesn’t recognize me. Even so, my mind unhelpfully hurtles me back to Saturday night, him striding over the hill, all wild white hair and muscles and a thousand-percent terrifying, Commanding Euphoria to bring me to him.

  A thread of fear coils inside me, but anger sweeps it away. This time, we’re coming for you, pal.

  He holds my gaze for a moment. “Do I know you?” He’s turning on the charm, but the rich baritone of his voice slides over me with a creep factor of, like, a zillion. The bruised indigo aura around his left shoulder warps the air. The Moribund.

  He knows I’m not infected. One of the few who isn’t.

  “Know me? Nope. Don’t think so. I’m new here.” I sidestep him, and he stands there a bit stunned. I’m probably the first girl to resist his “charms.”

  Gross. Dark Fae King on Earth. Ha! He won’t be but a footnote once we’re done with him. But first things first, Syl. Time to secure a permanent hall pass, and the best way to do that? Join the school paper.

  I turn the corner and head into the paper’s HQ. I’ve taken pictures for them since I was a lowly freshman, but I’ve never really gotten involved in the day-to-day goings-on.

  Even so, I’m pretty sure the place isn’t supposed to look like a hurricane hit it.

  Desks are overturned, papers on the floor, the daily mock-ups torn down from the corkboard. A few kids rummage through stuff, picking up papers and trying to clean up the mess. The trash cans are already full, and they haven’t even made a dent.

  “Can I help you?”

  Justice, the paper’s editor in chief, strides up. He’s a senior and way taller than me, super-thin and lanky. He’s also varsity baseball, and I hear he once pitched a no-hitter. His face is tinged red under his dark complexion, and despite his athlete status, he’s practically vibrating with some serious nerd rage.

  I don’t blame him.

  Someone trashed the paper. But who?

  “Hi, I’m—”

  And then I see it…my old desk. It’s in the center of the destruction, turned over, all the contents dumped out. My tiny cubbyhole gutted, my old scarf and the umbrella Mom always made me bring broken on the floor.

  They trashed my desk. Agravaine. Dread drags cold fingers down my spine. He’s looking for me, for any indication of where I might have gone. After all, Syl Skye and Euphoria simply vanished into thin air. Even the apartment’s vanished, if Mom’s claim about being able to hide it is true.

  “Hey, you okay?” Justice looks concerned now. He reaches out awkwardly to steady me.

  “I…uh…” Get it together, Syl. I snap myself out of it. “I’m Susan Scurry, the new junior photographer for the paper.” I hold up my DSL. “I’m a transfer from Richmond Public.”

  I feel absurdly like I’m reciting lines from a bad play.

  Justice fidgets, twisting his long fingers together in a way that looks painful. He takes a deep breath and seems to calm down a notch. “Okay, yeah, we could use some help. Someone turned the place upside down. Grab a broom.”

  “Okay.” Relieved to be out of the spotlight, I go to the closet and grab a broom. Justice turns back to directing the troops—and by “troops,” I mean the five or so geeky students moping around the mess.

  I join them, just as geeky and awkward.

  “Hi,” I say to the girl next to me. She’s got dyed blue-green hair like a mermaid. It looks great with her olive-tone skin. She’s curvy, like I imagine a mermaid would be too. Her name is…Prudence something-or-other. I forget. I’m terrible with names.

  “Hi,” she half-says, half-grumbles. “Can you believe that someone trashed the school paper? I mean, who does that?”

  “A total monster,” I say, and her face breaks into a smile. The icebreaker warms me a bit, and we laugh together.

  “I wouldn’t be laughing if I were you nerds. This place is a disaster.”

  Ugh, Fiann. I’d recognize her voice anywhere, but seriously? Both her and Agravaine? It’s been like ten minutes since I got here, and both of them have been all up in my ladybusiness.

  Fiann stands by the door and whistles, her princess posse arrayed behind her like an intimidating wall of cotton candy. Everyone freezes. Fiann can get downright nasty, and no one wants to end up in Principal Fee’s office.

  “Tough break, freaks and geeks.” She sweeps into the HQ like she owns the place. “My friend Syl said I should pick up her camera. Any idea where it is?”

  What a dirty little liar! I cover my anger by sweeping extra hard with the broom. Agravaine put her up to this. There’s no way on Gaea’s green Earth that Fiann Fee would lower herself to come down to the nerdy school paper. Unless there was something in it for her.

  But what? Why does she want my camera?

  To find out where you’ve been. Again, those cold fingers press against my spine.

  Justice points. “Her cubby’s over there, but I didn’t see a camera.” Nope, got it right here, buddy. “Someone must’ve stolen it. Probably whoever trashed the place.”

  Fiann purses her lips. She’s caught there. If she says the camera’s missing and not stolen, then all the “freaks and geeks” will want to know how she knows that.

  I mean, they’re nerdy, but they’re also the smartest kids in school.

  I lean on my broom and smirk. Next to me, Prudence is grabbing something from her desk. I see an old-school mini tape recorder.

  Fiann tosses her blonde ponytail like she’s the Queen of England. “Whatever. If you find it, let me know. She really wants it.”

  She turns, but Prudence brushes past me and does the reporter bull-rush toward Fiann, firing questions as she goes. “Where is Syl? Have you seen her? Did you know she‘s been missing since Saturday night? Rumor has it she ran away. Was it because you and your friends bullied her?” Prudence holds the tape recorder out. “Can you comment on her status, Miss Fee?”

  Fiann snarls and knocks Prudence’s hand away. “Get that out of my face, troll hips.” She’s flustered by Prudence’s questions, though, and everyone knows it. Fiann struggles to save her cool. “Just…clean this mess up. And you!” She points.

  “Me?” I act all innocent, looking around like she could possibly mean anyone else.

  “Yes, you, new girl.” She points at the camera hanging off my shoulder.

  Crap. She recognizes it.

  “Make sure you’re at cheer practice today to get some shots. The big game is this weekend, and we’ve gotta create some buzz, people! Report on the real news, why don’t you?” She sneers all mean at Prudence, and I relax.

  Dodged that bullet.

  To her credit, Prudence just puts her hands on her hips and gives Fiann the stink eye.

  With a cartoonish humph! Fiann turns and flounces out, her princess posse trailing after her.


  I look at Prudence. “That was tense.”

  She shrugs. “Only if you care what Fiann Fee thinks.” She walks to the editor’s desk and rifles through the mess, coming up with what looks like a key card. “Here’s your temporary hall pass so you can cover special events. I’ll order you the permanent one today. And remember…” Her grin grows wider. “With great power comes great responsibility.”

  I return her smile. “I promise to only use my powers for good.”

  The week goes by, Euphoria and I tromping from class to class every day. We’re together for most of the day, except she uses her study hall for band practice, and I use it to run around the school under the pretense of taking pictures. It’s the week after Homecoming, and Fee’s extended Spirit Week, making it two actual weeks instead of one. People are trying to forget what-all went down at the Nanci Raygun by throwing themselves into cheesy decorations and pep rallies.

  I’m supposed to be taking pictures, but really, I’m tailing Fiann and Agravaine around the school. Other than some illicit smoke breaks—Fiann—and secret meetings with his motorcycle fight club—Agravaine—and asking everything with a pulse about Syl Skye, the two of them are pretty boring.

  Color me shocked.

  But more and more as I run around, I’m reading those dark indigo auras on the student body. Agravaine’s got a lot of the guys into motorcycle racing—infecting them with Moribund circuits built right into the bikes themselves, and even though Euphoria’s not playing any more, the mics she tossed off the stage had dozens of Moribund circuits in them—enough to infect whichever girl caught it and all her friends.

  But Fiann and Agravaine are pretty quiet.

  Maybe they’re laying low after the events of the weekend, after trashing the school newspaper and coming up empty. Planning, plotting… Euphoria and I should do the same.

  That, and there’s something else I’ve been wanting to ask her. Friday, I decide to bite the bullet, just do it—pick your inspirational slogan.

  We meet up at lunch, hunching over our trays of lukewarm school pizza, soggy fries, and wilted green beans. We’re the new girls, so we’re alone at our table, and beneath the hustle and bustle of five hundred kids crammed into one small cafeteria, I drop the bomb. “I want you to train me.”